


Save The Day (A Little Closer)

by luninosity



Series: The Epic Universe of Porn, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Trauma, and Love [4]
Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) RPF
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Declarations Of Love, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Kink Negotiation, Light BDSM, Love, M/M, Oral Sex, Porn With Plot, Sex, Sexual Content, protective!Michael
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-02
Updated: 2012-11-02
Packaged: 2017-11-17 14:53:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/552784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/luninosity/pseuds/luninosity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The morning after the events of "Move". James sleeping in Michael's bed; early-morning blowjobs; reassurances of love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Save The Day (A Little Closer)

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Eve 6’s "Nightmare," this time.

Michael woke up first, as usual, the familiar presence of James a contented warmth at his side, the sunshine sneaking in through the crack between the curtains to hit him in the face just in case he wasn’t awake enough yet, and all the memories of the night before stampeded back at once, and he just lay there watching James sleep and feeling happily breathless with all the emotions in the world.  
   
James, for once, hadn’t wrapped himself up in every sheet in existence, probably because they’d left most of said sheets completely ruined for the purposes of sleep, and so he was curled up naked, the sunlight flirting lazily with all the freckles and tangling in his hair. Michael wanted to touch him more than anything, but he knew firsthand how exhausted James must be, and so he didn’t move, even though he couldn’t help being jealous of the sunbeams.  
   
At least they had a day off, today. Maybe they could spend the entire day in bed, just like this. He certainly wouldn’t mind. He was fairly sure that James, who hadn’t even noticed the slyly invading sunlight, wouldn’t mind, either.  
   
James sighed, in his sleep, and snuggled up more tightly against him, and Michael wondered whether he was cold without the sheets, and whether, if he shifted position in order to be able to put both arms around him, James would wake up. He didn’t want James to have to wake up yet.  
   
He watched the sunbeams trace their appreciative way across all that bare skin, and then felt his heart stop, just for a second, when they highlighted startling red marks, still present, across the perfect curve of James’s ass.  
   
Had he really done that? Had James let him do that? He hadn’t realized he’d been leaving lines that wouldn’t fade away in the night; the bruises last time had been bad enough, even though James had tried to say they hadn’t mattered.  
   
These didn’t look quite that bad, at least, but he felt his heart skip a beat anyway, when James sighed again, and yawned, and blinked, and then, sleepily, reached out and found Michael’s other arm, tugged until Michael put it around him, said something along the lines of “Mmmyes,” and shut his eyes again.  
   
Michael rested his head against all that fluffy hair, on the pillow; half-shut his eyes against the invading sunlight, and touched, gently, everywhere he’d been wanting to, earlier. The relaxed expanse of that back, all muscle and smooth skin. The hollows at the edge of the closest hipbone, painted in shades of morning gold. The little wisps of hair at the base of James’s neck, which made James murmur “No tickling” into his shoulder in protest.  
   
After a moment’s hesitation, he moved his hand lower, too, carefully testing wounded skin, touching the red lines; James, still half-asleep, said, “Ow,” and then lifted his head and smiled. “Good morning.”  
   
“Good morning. Did you say ow?”  
   
“…no?”  
   
“Are you lying to make me feel better?”  
   
“Maybe a little. Not as much as you think. I can hear you worrying, you know. You don’t have to.” James looked at him, face to face in the patch of sunlight. “Also, I love you. In case you wanted to hear it again.”  
   
He did. He hadn’t realized how badly, until just that second. Some tiny unnoticed part of his heart had been afraid that, waking up in the morning, James wouldn’t remember saying it, or, worse, would look away, with a laughing _oh, you thought I meant that? Sorry, that was just the aftermath talking…_  
   
But James had said it first. Unprompted. Smiling at him.  
   
“Oh, and you’re not going to say it back. I see how it is, then.” Teasing, affectionate; but with a barely-there undercurrent hinting at wounds beneath, buried way down deep behind layers of words, and Michael realized suddenly that James was probably having the exact same thoughts, except more so, because Michael hadn’t actually answered him yet.  
   
And he _knew_ that James was taking that silence and turning it into internal certainty, one more bruise-black confirmation of all that surprisingly sharp-edged self-doubt, because James had had time to think about it now, to question those midnight words under the bright light of morning, and James never could believe anyone who told him that he was beautiful, or brilliant, or worthy of being loved.  
   
And the too-blue eyes had flickered away from his, glancing down at the quiet spill of sunlight across the pillow instead.  
   
But James had believed him, last night. He knew that, too. Maybe only for the night, only for a few hours, but James _had_ believed him. And that meant something. For both of them.  
   
So he’d just have to say it more times, as many times as James needed to hear it, to accept it, to believe him again, and then again, until James believed him always. He could do that. And he would. Always.  
   
That smile had stayed in place, but by now he was fairly good at reading all of James’s expressions, and he could see the suggestion of brittleness there, as if the sunbeams, slicing through the chill in the autumn air outside, had carried the cold all the way to their final encounter with exposed freckles.  
   
He moved his hand so that the suddenly unfriendly sunshine landed on his arm, instead of all that bare skin.  
   
“James?”  
   
“Hmm? If you’re hungry we can order room service. Or I can go find you food. Though I should probably be dressed if I’m going to go food-hunting for you. And I might need coffee before I can find my clothes. Or I can just go, if you’ve changed your mind about this. But I’d rather shower first, if you don’t mind me using your shower—”  
   
“ _Our_ shower.” Damn. Damn, damn, damn. He needed to fix this. He had to fix this. Now.  
   
“What?”  
   
“Our shower. Our room. And I love you.”  
   
“Oh…you don’t have to—”  
   
“I love you. I meant it last night. And I mean it now. And if you’ve somehow talked yourself out of believing it between then and now—” This was still mostly a guess, but a fairly accurate one, judging from James’s expression. “—then I’m going to have to call you an idiot. Very loudly.”  
   
That actually earned a true smile, creeping its way across that guarded expression and unbarring recently-closed doors along the way. Good, even if he wasn’t quite sure why or how or which words had, magically, started to work. But apparently they had. So he wasn’t going to question them.  
   
Maybe he just needed to call James an idiot more often. Or threaten to, anyway.  
   
He held on a little more tightly, in case James still had any thoughts about trying to get out of bed, and added, “And I don’t want you to go anywhere. Ever. I want you to stay right here, and not get up, and I can go make you coffee, or breakfast if you want that, and please don’t move, because I’ve already heard you in pain once this morning and I don’t want you to move until nothing hurts, and I love you.”  
   
The smile had made it all the way up into blue eyes now, warming the ocean depths. And James didn’t try to get up, after all. Just stayed there, in his arms, looking at him from centimeters away. All at once the morning light, still falling over both of them, felt happier, again. Almost cozy.  
   
James sighed, softly, and the breath of it crossed the small space between them like a kiss, and the last lingering tension picked itself up and tiptoed away into the morning. “I love you, too. And you really didn’t hurt me; it’s not that bad. I promise. And I’m not just lying to make you feel better about it. And also… _you_ don’t go anywhere, either.”  
   
“Not even to make you coffee?”  
   
“Not yet.”  
   
“Why not?”  
   
“Because _this_.”  
   
“Oh. _Oh_. Wait, are you sure you want to—”  
   
“Yes.” James tightened his fingers around Michael’s suddenly very-awake cock, and then moved them in a certain particular rhythm, and Michael stopped talking because James had extremely talented fingers, and an evident desire to exploit those talents to the fullest at the moment.  
   
“James?”  
   
“Yes?” The fingers moved a little faster, a bit more firmly, and one of them slid across the tip of his cock, finding and teasing the impatient beginnings of wetness there. “Were you asking me something?”  
   
“…I forgot.”  
   
James laughed. Suddenly the other hand was involved, too.  
   
“Oh, my god…”  
   
“Good?”  
   
“I love you. I—”  
   
“Hmm? Also, I love you too.”  
   
He couldn’t talk anymore, even though he wanted to answer. The fingers kept stroking him, the exact right combination of pressure and motion and the slippery lubrication of his own want, and he could see the intent curve of that smile as James watched him, those impossibly blue eyes following the slide of Michael’s cock through his fingers, and he tried to find words of warning and couldn’t, as the shock of release burst abruptly over him, through him, with the relentlessness of a thunderstorm.  
   
James looked at him, smiled a little more brightly, and traced a finger across the tip of his cock, speculatively, through all the stickiness, prompting a completely inadvertent gasp. Dear god, he might never be able to talk again.  
   
James contemplated the shine of wetness on his fingertip for a second, and then thoughtfully licked his finger.  
   
Michael actually whimpered—possibly the most embarrassing sound he’d ever made in bed, but then again James had just made him come in about thirty seconds flat and so he’d mostly given up on embarrassment—and if he weren’t still shaking from the aftermath, there might’ve been a second round, just from that sight. As it was, his spent cock managed a heroic final twitch, which James obviously noted.  
   
“Good?”  
   
“You…Yes. Good. Love. You.”  
   
“Good, then.” James sounded, and looked, extremely pleased with himself. “Now you can go make me coffee.”  
   
“Five minutes. After I can move.”  
   
“Hmm. Clearly I should’ve thought this plan through in more detail.”  
   
“Any more detail and you might’ve killed me.”  
   
“Oh, I wouldn’t want that. Then you couldn’t make me coffee.”  
   
“You,” Michael said, “I love you,” and pulled James in closer to him, fitting their bodies together despite all the stickiness, loving the way James leaned against him, comfortable and warm and content. He ran both hands across all that bare skin, touching every single place he could reach, and James smiled, and then tried and failed to squirm out of the way when the hands found a sensitive spot.  
   
“I said no tickling!”  
   
“So you did. I didn’t.”  
   
“Wait, that isn’t fair!”  
   
“No, it isn’t.”  
   
“That—you—you can’t just agree! That’s not a debate!”  
   
And Michael looked at that suddenly indignant expression, those blue eyes sparkling back at him and clearly not actually annoyed at all, and almost laughed. “It’s not a debate. It is your turn, though.”  
   
“My turn for what?”  
   
“Really? You can’t guess?”  
   
“Oh, for that. Not arguing, then. What do you want me to—”  
   
“Hands over your head. On the pillow.”  
   
“Oh…handcuffs, then? All right.”  
   
“No.”  
   
“No?”  
   
“No. Just me telling you what to do. And you doing it. Hands, James.”  
   
“Oh,” James breathed, almost soundlessly, and then stretched both hands up above his head, into the eagerly accepting tumble of sunlight over white cotton, and left them in place. “Like this?”  
   
“Yes. Don’t move.”  
   
“Oh god. Yes.”  
   
Michael grinned, hearing that answer, in that tone, and paused, just for a second, to kiss those amazing lips. James kissed back, enthusiastically, and then made a noise of disappointment when he stopped. It took some effort to pull himself away, of course, but he had plans.  
   
“Why—”  
   
“No questions, either.” He traced fingers, followed by the brush of lips, down across that flat stomach, over one hip, chasing trails of freckles like bread crumbs, leading him home. He liked that analogy, he decided. Definitely home.  
   
James groaned softly, as Michael stopped to kiss his thigh. That particular sound he mentally catalogued as mostly desire, and just a tiny bit of frustration about the no-questions rule. And the hands still hadn’t moved, despite fingers curling with anticipation. Perfect.  
   
“Are you—”  
   
“I said no questions.” He was willing to let that one go, though, because of the way James was looking at him now, ocean-blue eyes depthless and practically pleading, and then James actually bit his lip and nodded, and so Michael decided that he deserved a reward.  
   
Besides, he had something specific already in mind, anyway.  
   
The sunlight, falling enticingly across all that skin, all that evidence of James wanting him, hard and hot under his curious fingertips, offered an invitation to taste, to lick his way along all that eagerness and make James whimper, this time.  
   
So he did. And James did. Of course.

James tasted fantastic. He really ought to do this more.  
   
He still wasn’t the most experienced at being on this side of the encounter, but James seemed to be approving of his efforts, judging from the sounds he was making now, so Michael explored a little more, running his tongue all along that hardness, taking a breath and then sliding lower, taking more, letting James thrust deeper into his mouth, the movement sudden and uncontrolled, as if he couldn’t help it.  
   
 _Definitely_ perfect.  
   
Experimentally, he let the motions get a bit rougher, harder, suggestions of tightness and teeth and faster rhythms, and James gasped, “Yes—” and then, “please, I want you, please, can we—?”  
   
He had to stop and look up, in order to answer that. “No.”  
   
“Michael—”  
   
“No. Remember what we said last night? Two days.”  
   
“Two _days_? I want you in me, I want you, please fuck me, please—”  
   
“No. I’m not going to hurt you.”  
   
“You’re not, you won’t—” James shivered when Michael touched him this time, hips coming up off the bed, asking for more, and so Michael leaned back down and took all of that desperate length into his mouth, tasting skin and salt with every stroke of his tongue, and all the words dissolved into incoherently scattered sounds.  
   
When those hips arched up again, Michael slid a hand beneath them, feeling all the lingering red marks come down to greet his fingers, and James gasped again, “Please—I need you, please—” and Michael shook his head, but, against his better judgment, moved one finger to press against that tight ring of muscle, still slightly pink and swollen from the night before, and James moaned. “ _Please_ …”  
   
“All right. Just this. And that’s all you’re going to get, this morning. Understand?”  
   
“Yes…”  
   
Fortunately the lube was still sitting out, helpfully perched on the bedside table within easy reach, and a minute later he eased a single long finger carefully inside, and felt James slowly relax around the intrusion, opening up for him, breathing now uneven and shaky with all that desire.  
   
“All right?”  
   
“Mmm…”  
   
“Tell me.”  
   
“Fantastic.”  
   
“Good.” He could’ve said more, but instead went back to the particular motion that James had seemed to like so much, the one involving his tongue and just a little bit of roughness from teeth, just enough to make James catch his breath and jerk those hips upwards, helplessly.  
   
“I said you weren’t allowed to move.” He shifted angles, crooking the finger slightly, finding that exact spot, and James shuddered at the wave of pleasure, arms shaking but still obediently in place against the pillow.  
   
“I can’t—”  
   
“Tell me what you want, then.”  
   
“I need to—I have to—oh god do that again, _please_ , please can I…”  
   
“Can you what?” He stopped moving, just resting the finger in place as lightly as possible, leaving James wide-eyed and trembling and clearly right on the edge. “Ask me for what you want. And I might let you.”  
   
James licked his lips, a quick flash of tongue across pink skin. “I need to—I need you to tell me I can come. Sir.”  
   
Well, that was unexpected. Not exactly bad. But unexpected.  
   
“James…you know you don’t have to…”  
   
“I know.” James was blushing, just a little, the color highlighting the small shy golden freckles on graceful cheekbones. “It just sort of…came out. Do you mind?”  
   
“No.” Definitely not, actually. Also, he loved the fact that, despite everything, after everything, he could still make James blush, in bed. Amazing. “You don’t have to, but I don’t mind. Say it again, if you want to.”  
   
James shut his eyes, the flush of color deepening across those cheekbones, but said, “Yes, sir.”  
   
“Oh, my god,” Michael whispered back, more or less involuntarily, and then remembered to press that finger upward again, making James cry out softly into the sunlight. He tightened the other hand around James’s achingly hard cock, too, stroking until James moaned his name, begging now.  
   
“James?”  
   
“Please…”  
   
“You’re incredible, you know. So good, for me, like this. Doing everything I ask you to.” The hands, on the pillowcase, he noticed, had curled into fists with all the tension, fingernails biting into palms, but James had managed not to move them more than a centimeter out of place. The eyes were still tightly closed, though, and he wanted to see all that blueness gazing back at him.  
   
“Look at me. Tell me you know I love you.”  
   
James blinked at him through clinging hair and sweat and desperation, those endless eyes all luminous and sapphire-brilliant with need. “I love you.”  
   
“No. I mean yes. I know. I do know. And you have no idea how fucking amazing that is.” Which made James blush again, but Michael didn’t give him the chance to protest. “But still not what I asked. Tell me that you know I love you.”  
   
“I—”  
   
“And then you can come.” He moved the finger again, as a reminder, and James gasped and his entire body almost came off the bed.  
   
“Please. Sir.”  
   
“You have to say it.”  
   
“You—all right, yes, you love me, I know you love me, always, now _please_ can I—”  
   
“Yes.”  
   
And he watched, as James came apart for him, shaking, trying to cry out, breathlessly, fingers abruptly biting into the pillow, release shuddering through his whole body, everywhere, finally, at last.  
   
Just to make sure, he found that spot again, and kept stroking, other hand still sliding along the lingering hardness of James’s cock, and James made a sound he’d never heard before, a kind of tiny airless scream, and completely froze in place, for a single timelessly suspended moment, and then collapsed into the bed, trembling.  
   
“James?”  
   
At the sound of his name, James shivered, but didn’t say anything, and Michael very carefully slid his hand away—which prompted a gasp, barely audible—and grabbed the closest sheet to clean them both up, and then pulled James back into his arms, and they just lay there tangled up together, breathing in unison, for a silent minute, under the cheerfully approving sunbeams.  
   
He did eventually have to ask, though. He’d probably always have to ask. Just to make sure.  
   
“Are you all right? Talk to me.”  
   
“Define all right, again. Does it mean exhausted?”  
   
“Seriously, please.”  
   
“I’m seriously wonderful, then. And so are you. And I love you. And you love me.”  
   
And it wasn’t a question, this time. But Michael answered him anyway. “Yes. I do. Always.”  
   
And James smiled at him, through all the happy morning sunlight, and said, “I know.”


End file.
